She wore her greenest gown;
She turned to the south wind
And curtsied up and down.
She turned to the sunlight
And shook her yellow head,
And whispered to her neighbour:
"Winter is dead."
A.A.Milne
Spring on the Hill
After months of cold we finally had a breath of fresh air on Flagpole Hill. Temperatures soared into the 60's and that brought everyone out in their shorts to get some color. I'm pretty sure that aircraft passing overhead could have used the pasty white flesh exposed out there as a navigating beacon for Shenandoah Valley Regional Airport. Music was swelling from the rooms and all was right with the world.
Just after these next pictures were taken we got into a game of tackle football. Yeah, full on tackling wearing nothing but shorts. Tom Bell, our Corps Commander, had the ball and was making a run around end for the indeterminate end zone near the cannon when I leaped onto his back and dragged him to the turf. Now I probably weighed 140 pounds and Tom was on the football team, so it came as quite a shock to him that this skinny kid just planted him. He stood up, and for a second I thought he was going to spike me with the ball. Then he relaxed a bit and said "Where did you learn to tackle like that?" That was a question I had no answer for.
"Well, my buddies and I go out to this field not far from here and get stoned, see. Then we pretend we're Greek gods and stuff and indulge in thinly veiled homoerotic wrestling matches to relieve stress and bond as brothers. How's that?"
"Um, I don't know. I just did it." Yeah, that'll work.
Our jaunts out to the Trippin' Tree and surrounding areas always cleared my head. The pure joy we felt getting away and exploring the inner reaches of our minds together bonded us like no other experience. We could laugh, cry, and go a little insane without fear of judgment and in pure fellowship. We forged bonds deeper than we realized.
My Secret Identity
In my senior year I came to think of myself as a very witty fellow. I had an opinion about everything and wanted to share my thoughts with an admiring public. Hmm. How to exercise my right to free speech without fear of retribution? A Secret Identity! Before my time there had been another superhero named X Von Phantom who had left graffiti on the restroom walls, so I adopted his nom de plume and started my own free speech campaign. While I can't honestly quote any of the pithy stuff I scratched out on stall walls all over campus, I know it was reaching an audience. I
suppose that was very much like today's blogging. Less permanent, but just as meaningful. When I heard rumors that our venerable owner may have planted "narcs" among the cadet population I felt more direct action was in order. I sat at my desk and penned a rant decrying the totalitarian nature of "rats" of that type and the hatred and disgust it engendered. I went on and on about everything we disliked about cadet life: the food, the capricious attitudes toward personal freedoms, the need for a more socialist environment. The usual. I put on my knit cap, dark gloves and black Delta uniform jacket and sneaked over to Mr. Loeffler's home. That's it just behind the trees on the left of the Hill pic above. After lurking in the bushes for an eternity I worked up the courage to leap to the porch, drop the letter, bang on the door and then run like hell!Hazy Memories
Check this out:
Scene 1: North Barracks panning toward the Mess Hall and Admin buildings
Scene 2: North Barracks Sweep Detail - Typical military efficiency!
Scene 3: Asphalt panning across South Barracks and Admin buildings.
Scene 4: Flagpole Hill and the view of Staunton itself, including the hump known as Betsy Bell
Scene 5: View of Staunton from North Barracks
Scene 6: Athletic fields. That's the track Captain Howdy made me run and where I lost my front teeth. Junior School at the end.
Scene 7: Cadets marching to mess. Must be a Sunday due to "C" coats and white shirts. Spaghetti night!
Scene 8: Winter goofiness. Too bad no snowball fights!
Scene 9: Our crack drill team, the Howie Rifles in their silver helmets.
Scene 10: Rifle exercises. Yes, we played with our guns to music. Practiced for weeks before a big presentation in the Spring.
Scene 11: A group of cadets greeting Queen Elizabeth. (Or not)
Scene 12: Cadets on a crime spree. Sometimes allowances ran a little thin toward the weekend. They seemed to have spent their loot on a night at the Holiday Inn. Sweet.
Scene 13: Setting up tents the old fashioned way. Badly.
Scene 14: Cadets walking up the Hill, Junior School in the background.
Scene 15: Military maneuvers. I never went on that trip. Stayed behind and went "camping" at the Trippin' Tree.
Crisis Time
Right about the same time we were all called to an assembly in the Small Gym for an "important announcement". Once we were all gathered, Mr. Loeffler got right to the point. The school was in serious financial trouble and there was some likelihood that we would close down before the end of the school year. After the initial shock, we asked what could be done to stay open. A plan had been formed to get the Senior class to call alumni around the country to ask for contributions, as well as other contingencies. Loeffler thanked us for sticking together through these uncertain times and congratulated us on being for the most part united. One cadet asked what he meant by that and he said: "Well, I have gotten one letter from a cadet who seems very unhappy with us, a fellow calling himself 'X Von Phantom'". Every head in the room turned and looked at me, and I of course looked at the guy next to me. Fame can be a harsh mistress. How did they know?
Over the next couple of weeks we frantically searched for money, calling old men on the phone and trying to pry their life savings out of them so we could grasp that golden diploma. It wasn't unusual to end up talking to a frail old woman who would inform us that dear Hissom T. Bernacle had passed on years before. Or to have an irate alum rant about how he hadn't heard anything from SMA in ten years and they could stick this request where the sun don't shine.
Our Headmaster, Dennis Case, pored over our academic records to see if we could meet the minimum standards for graduation in Virginia. TV crews from as far away as Washington, DC came and filmed our daily life to be broadcast on the evening news. The night it was on we all gathered around the little TV in the rec room to see if we could spot ourselves. In the end just enough cash flowed in to keep our little Paradise running until graduation and the heat was off. All we had to do now was Beat the Wease in finals and coast to the finish. So damn easy. What could go wrong?
20: What could go wrong.
No comments:
Post a Comment